Justice is a Bag of Jelly Beans
by scousemuz1k
Summary: Season 3, after 'Bait' and my last story, 'The Cojones'. A moral dilemma for Tony, team fic.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: I haven't made a disclaimer for quite a while – I neither own nor profit from this or any other of my NCIS stories.**

Justice is a Bag of Jelly Beans

by scousemuz1k

The series of attacks had been brutal, sadistic and mindless, and were increasing in frequency. All the victims had been able to say was that the perpetrator was a white male, who attacked from behind, and the first blow was always disabling, since all his victims were trained fighters. He had attacked men and women, and seemed to follow no particular pattern, the only connection being that they were all marines, and there was possibly a preference for higher ranks and ratings.

He had sometimes raped, victims of both sexes, sometimes not, but there was always appalling violence. It could have been called frenzied, except for the fact that the attacker had always used a condom to avoid leaving DNA. That, they agreed, certainly showed premeditation. Having met the traumatised victims, the MCRT had not seen their beds for three days, in their determination to make sure that it didn't happen again. The next attack could end in murder; it was a wonder no-one had already died.

There was no joking in the bull-pen, and very little conversation. Exhaustion pulled and plucked and tugged insistently at the three agents who sat, glazed eyes glued to their screens; anger hung in the air like a migraine. Gibbs had barked, "Going to see Fornell," and vanished without waiting for an answer.

Tony had lifted his head and looked round at the other two. "Anyone else want a quick shot of fresh air?" The other two sent back identical weary smiles, and shook their heads. Tony nodded and turned back to his screen.

It was maybe ten minutes later that they caught, at last, their first break. Tony's desk phone shrilled. "Yeah… oh… OK, fair enough. She has? On our way, Boss." There was actually the ghost of a smile on the SFA's face. "Abby called Gibbs to say she's found something. _He _called _me_ to say go down to see _her_. Come on…"

Tim muttered something about staying. "No, you too, McGozzeyed. A couple of minutes change of scenery'll be good for you."

An agent on the other side of the partition stood up. She'd been paying attention ever since Tony had said 'found something'. "I'll listen to your machines, Tim," she said. "I'll call you if there's anything."

"Thanks, Karla," Tim said sincerely, grateful that other people were so willing to help; but then who _wouldn't_ in a case like this? He followed the other two with equal measures of reluctance and relief.

Even Abby was subdued, for her. "It's not much," she greeted them, "and it'll need something else to go with it… but I remembered what one victim said. Sergeant King… he said he knew the guy was white even though he wore gloves and came from behind, because he caught a glimpse of his reflection in a glass door. Not enough to identify him by… anyway, I looked for prints on anything that could carry one, because I remembered you saying you could see the seam of a glove in one victim's bruises, Tony, and I thought seams on gloves can come apart, and Gibbs says never to assume so I thought just because he was wearing gloves didn't mean there _couldn't_ be a print – "

Tony put one hand on her shoulder, and made soothing gestures with the other. "Hey… sshh… breathe already. You found one, then. You're a genius, Abbs."

Her shoulders slumped. "Only a partial," she said glumly. "Print, I mean, not genius. I mean, I am a genius… The programme's running, and it'll give us what it can, but it won't be enough. There could be hundreds of matches from what I get."

"You're still a genius," Tony assured her. "Send what you get up to my computer, not McGees." Tim again made as if to protest. "He's got enough on his plate with the programmes he's already running."

Tim pulled a wry face, acknowledging that Tony just might be right, and grinned at the goth, adding his thanks. "Nice work, Abbs… we've gone with less before."

Ziva wondered why Tim had deferred to Tony twice now, after all was he not better employed doing what he did best, and was he not entitled to point that out to DiNozzo? How tired a person was had no significance, failure would be the only outcome if a mission was not pursued single-mindedly to its end. This was like a mission, was it not? To locate and neutralise a dangerous offender… Gibbs would have made McGee stay at his post. She listened to the conversation going on behind her as they headed back to the elevator and the squadroom.

"That was nice, McGentleman… reassuring her. Abby doesn't like this any more than the rest of us do…"

"She really doesn't like it when her forensics don't come up with _something_. I only told her the truth."

"Yeah, well, she needed to hear it. What about you? You feel any better?"

Tim actually laughed, although it was short-lived. "I know how Abby feels. I've taken every scrap of data, from all the attacks, here and other places… all on American soil or American bases… I've twisted them every which way…. I don't like it when my programs don't come up with something. But you're right, Tony."

"I am?"

"The breather was a good idea. Maybe I'll see something when we get back."

Ziva, in front of the two men in the elevator, could see the warped ghost of Tony's pleased smile in the stainless steel patina of the door. "What about you, Ziva?" the hazy, reflected lips inquired, catching her by surprise. At Mossad they never asked how you were feeling, only if you could do your job.

"It is frustrating," she had to agree. "I am trying to find a likely suspect in criminal records; I put in one set of parameters and get a hundred names, another set gets me none."

"Try sitting back with your eyes closed, and let your mind drift over the case instead of looking at the screen."

"Will that help?"

Tony knew that it often helped him, but as yet had no idea if it would work for Ziva. "I've no idea," he said airily, "but at least your eyes will have a rest." He knew from the squaring of her shoulders that his attempt to cheer her had fallen flat. She still didn't think much of him professionally, that was just as clear as it had been after the Meyers case; he still hadn't figured out how to handle it…

Just as the elevator opened, Tim's phone buzzed. Karla Howe turned to face them, holding her own cell phone. She smiled slightly, shrugged and flipped it shut. "One of your correlation programs just came up, Tim. You must have sensed it."

"Thanks, Karla." Tim hurried to his desk as the young black agent went back to hers with a quiet 'you're welcome', and peered urgently at what was displayed on his screen. "Well I'll be –" He bit back the profanity, because Tim McGee was a man who didn't swear.

Tony followed him over curiously. Ziva followed Tony. "What is it, Tim?"

"This is the last hunter program I put in," Tim said. "It was the one I thought would be least likely to get results. I thought I was giving it too _much_ information."

"Sod's law," Tony said ruefully.

"Who is Sodslaw?" Ziva asked. Tony resisted the urge to tell her it was a type of salad; his last attempt to lighten things had spiralled down in flames.

"It's a law of cussedness, Ziva," Tim explained. "It states first of all that the slice of toast you drop will always land jam side down." Ziva frowned, then made the connection. She allowed a brief smile, then it was gone. Well, the SFA thought, at least the probie had managed to raise it. "I went back a few more years, just to widen the field a bit, and found some more attacks that took place on military bases in other countries. The one factor that comes up every single time is a hospital. Every place there's been an attack has one. In three days of looking, it's the only common feature that's ever appeared. It could mean nothing…"

Tony grimaced. "Or everything. A nurse… or a doctor… or anyone whose job's supposed to be healing…" He looked sick for a moment, recalling how many times he'd been in need of a healer during his life. They'd been good people, every one of them… "Nice work, McGee."

Tim perked up a bit. "I'll send the new cases across for you and Ziva to add in," he said. "They may tie in to something. They must tie in to something," he finished heavily. Tony patted his shoulder and headed back to his own desk. He was surprised to see Ziva sit down and close her eyes.

Another fifteen minutes, and they had something to go on. Abby's results arrived on Tony's computer, seventy-one names, and instead of the burden being taken from Tim's shoulders, it was seized with both hands. "Come on, Tony, you know I'm faster than you."

The SFA smiled, and ceded his chair to his probie. "Well," he said, "it seemed like a good idea at the time."

Tim's fingers flew, discarding possible matches who weren't white and male, forty-nine names; weren't medical staff, thirty-one; hadn't been at any of the relevant hospitals at the times of the attacks, twelve…and weren't in the DC area at present.

Two names remained. A doctor who had retired due to arthritis, and a male nurse. They looked at the face on the screen, and all three guts tightened. "It's him," Tim said.

"It is him," Ziva agreed.

"We shouldn't assume," Tony said virtuously, and they both glared at him. "But it's him."

"Brian Brassington," Tim read. "Age thirty three, rejected by the Corps nine years ago. It's got to be him… oh shit." Tim McGee occasionally _was_ a man who swore. "Tony, he's at Bethesda." His fingers flew again, and brought up duty rosters. "He's at Bethesda, right now."

"Come on," Tony said, grabbing his badge and gun. Before Tim could disentangle himself from Tony's workstation, the SFA had loped over to the younger man's desk and grabbed his Sig and shield, and handed it to him.

Ziva was ahead of them as they ran to the stairs. "Should we not wait for Gibbs?"

"He can meet us there," Tim yelled at her back as they plunged down the echoing staircase. Behind him, Tony was also yelling, filling the Boss in as he ran.

Tony's driving was one step under Gibbs' degree of recklessness. "The cops don't know me," he retorted grimly to Tim's comment. "They're not afraid to stop me. I don't want to have to be dodging them – we'd end up on the nine o'clock news. Get Brad Pitt on the horn, McGrumble. Tell him whatever you think best, but make sure he meets us at the front entrance. I don't care what he's doing. We need someone who knows the place – I only know the plague pit." Tim winced and called.

The roster had said that Brassington was on duty in the radiography department. "No," Brad said as he met them. Tony was unsurprised to see he'd brought two security officers with him. "They're short-staffed in the ante-natal clinic, so he was sent there. He wasn't too happy apparently."

"The ante- natal clinic?" Tim sounded surprised that such a thing existed.

"In the maternity and neo-natal wing. Even Marines get pregnant, Special Agent McGee," Brad chuckled, but the laugh ended as quickly as it had begun. He led them swiftly down a broad corridor. "What do you want to do, Tony?"

Tony didn't hesitate. "We find out _exactly_ where he is. I might need you to come up with a plan to isolate him. Then you get the hell out, keep everyone else away, and leave him to us. He's beyond violent, Brad." The Commander nodded, and nothing more was said until they arrived at the end of the passage, outside the double doors to the maternity wing.

As the two security men positioned themselves to prevent anyone else from coming that way, the others stood to one side, where they wouldn't be seen by anyone looking through the double doors, and Brad explained the layout to them. "The ante-natal clinic is the first place we come to; it's the busiest so it's nearest to the door. There's the waiting area and reception, then the two ultrasound rooms, then the consulting rooms are beyond them. There's a corridor off to the right leading to the maternity wing; and down that corridor are the elevators and staircase to the neo-natal unit."

"We need to stop him from going down that corridor, or anyone else from coming up it," Tony said, laying his plans quickly. "How would you find out where he is right now, Brad?"

"Give me a moment," the doctor said calmly.

"Be careful, Brad."

"I'm a Commander in the U.S. Navy," Dr. Pitt said, rolling his eyes, and disappeared through the double doors.

A few moments later, he was back. "He's ungraciously assisting the ultrasonographer in room one. The receptionist tells me room two is empty. She's phoning the two consultants here today to tell them and their patients to stay in their rooms until we say come out."

"Nice work, Doctor!" Tony said approvingly. He peered through the door. "Two couples, and two ladies who look like mother and daughter. Ziva, when we go in there, tell them quietly to leave through this door, the receptionist too, then guard the door to the consulting rooms. Tim, guard the corridor to maternity. I'll block the double doors and we'll have him in a three way squeeze… guns out as soon as everyone's clear. Let's not engage him physically unless we've no choice. Brad, two things more…When we've cleared, will you phone ultrasound one, and say that Brassington's needed back in x-ray? If he hates maternity that much, it should bring him out like a champagne cork. Then, wait for Gibbs and fill him in?"

The Commander looked as if he'd rather mix it with the rest of them, but he nodded ruefully and backed off. A few minutes later, after some bewildered people had trooped out of the waiting area, he made the call.

It was a good plan; it should have worked perfectly. Brian Brassington marched out of the ultrasound room grinning all over his face, to find three guns aimed at him, and all escape routes blocked.

"Down on the floor," Tony said calmly. "We don't have a problem with shooting if we need to."

Nurse Brassington was of just about average height, and didn't look particularly strong or particularly weak. He was rather ordinary. His eyes, however, were like brown cherry stones, flat, hard and full of malice. He looked from DiNozzo to McGee, and heard the click of Ziva's gun behind him, and finally decided not to die in a hail of bullets. His knees had just begun to bend when the door of the 'empty' ultrasound room two opened, and a couple emerged, giggling in their own little world.

Staff Sergeant Glenn Gallier and his wife Jane, happily holding a photo of their unborn child, stopped laughing, stood still between Tony and his target, and stared. Their presence neutralised the guns, and Brassington knew it. The horrified team got a first hand look at the two-handed, back-of-the-neck disabling first blow that victims had spoken of. Sergeant Gallier grunted and stooped as the blow landed, and didn't have time to straighten up before he was seized by his collar and his belt and thrown head first against the wall.

Tony jumped forward, as Ziva tried to do the same from behind, but Jane Gallier was already in Brassington's grip, his arm tight round her neck. She was unresisting, her arms wrapped round her stomach, her eyes on her husband, unconscious on the floor.

"Get Back. Get back or I'll snap her neck." They didn't doubt he meant it, and they backed slowly off. "Drop your guns." When they hesitated, he jerked the pregnant woman's head back, and she screamed with what little breath she had. The ultrasonographer and her assistant from room two stood in the doorway, eyes wide, two more people to _not _shoot by mistake, and Tony slowly put his gun down.

At least the operator in room one had the sense to stay where she was. _Never assume…_ he seethed inside as he watched Tim and Ziva follow his lead. _I should have checked myself… got to do something._

"Now you…" Brassington spoke to McGee, "Get the hell out of my way. We're going visiting the little babies. The lady and I are going to go out through the back door."

Tim didn't move, his eyes wide with horror. Somehow the thought of this creature let loose amongst new born babies and their mothers, was just not to be tolerated. Tony stepped alongside him. "No, you're not," he said. This time Jane Gallier's cry was of pain rather than fear, as the male nurse gripped her jaw and jerked her head again.

"You're very good at attacking from behind, and hiding behind women," Tony said coldly.

"No wonder they didn't want you in the marines," Tim added.

"Yeah…" his SFA agreed. "You're a coward, and they saw that. You can't control yourself, and they saw that too. Come on, coward… come out from behind the lady. You hurt her one more time and I'll kill you anyway. Let's see you take on a man, from the front." He knew Ziva was poised behind, ready to act too, he hoped she'd get the woman out of the way before she joined in the mix. "I reckon you can't do it. You won't. You're scared."

Brassington shoved Jane Gallier aside; she tottered and Ziva caught her. She rushed her towards the door, but Jane began to fight, wanting to go to her husband. Ziva had her hands full, and Tony was trying not to think about that and concentrate on the here and now, as the monster charged.

**AN: Usual thing… thought I could do it as a one-shot… thanks to Andrew, who spent all afternoon digging infections out of my ancient computer so I could finish this chapter. Bunny, seems the healing vibes worked!**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Thanks to the people who reviewed but weren't logged in!**

Justice is a Bag of Jelly Beans

by scousemuz1k

Chapter 2

Mateo Fuentes wanted to do something useful with his life. Brought up by his grandmother in a tiny village near Baguio in the Philippines, he'd taken his turn and looked after _her_ devotedly until she died, and then come to the USA to stay with his cousin Roberto, ten years an American citizen.

His intention now, at age twenty-three, was to work hard, become a radiographer, and either return to his own country to work, or to naturalise like Roberto; so far the decision on going home or remaining with his friend and only living relative, hadn't been faced. Having not spoken English until he went to school, he still felt at a disadvantage compared to people from Manila and other cities, who were completely at ease with it. Roberto and Cara kept assuring him that he was perfectly fluent, but he still tangled up, or reverted to Tagalog (or 'Taglish', as Robbie teased,) at times of stress.

Mateo refused to be a financial burden on his cousin; and while he studied conscientiously he supported himself by working as an orderly at Bethesda Medical Center, where he was well liked by all his colleagues.

Staff Sergeant Glenn Gallier was a model Marine. Since he first enlisted, he'd been seen as a man with potential, capable of taking on responsibilities and dealing with them well. His progress upward through the ratings had been steady; there wasn't a black mark anywhere in his record.

He adored his wife Jane, who adored her soldier right back, and just now they were well aware of their good fortune, that the expected birth of their first child would happen while he was at home. Many wives had to go it alone, while their husbands worried about them somewhere in Baghdad or the wilds of Helmand province.

Mateo and Glenn… two good people whose paths just happened to cross at a bad time.

The Staff Sergeant woke up slowly from what he thought must have been a bad night's sleep in an awkward position under his Humvee. His neck really hurt. But so did the top of his head; that didn't fit with his first assumption. There was something stuck to his arm, snagging and hurting as he tried to move, and he wondered if he'd been wounded in action, and who'd tell Jane…

He sat up with a horrified yell, as he remembered. He lay in a hospital cubicle, curtains drawn, still fully clothed except for his top shirt and boots, an IV in his arm. Jane… the baby… people with guns…terror gripped him such as he had never felt in combat; there was a buzzing in his head like a flight of Hueys passing above it. He was a man of action; twenty seconds ago he'd been unaware of danger, now all he could think of was the immediate response that was needed; he ripped the canula out of his forearm, tore the curtain aside and ran out to find his wife.

A figure blocked his way; a young man, smaller than him, pushing a wheelchair and saying something in soothing tones that he wasn't hearing.

"Get the hell out of my way."

"Sir… please be going back… there's no danger… you're bleeding…_sir, please_…" Mateo couldn't, for the life of him, remember the word for rescued, or saved, although he knew this was Jane's husband, and he'd come to escort him to her if he were awake. The soldier's anger made him panicked and tongue-tied; but manfully, he tried again. "Sir… please sit down in the chair… your wife is…"

Sit in the chair be damned. Disorientated and afraid, the Marine grabbed the wheelchair and threw it against the wall. The young man tugged at his sleeve; his mouth moved, but Glenn Gallier couldn't really hear him, except that word 'wife'. He picked the young man up by his upper arms, flung him out of the way, and ran off down the corridor, not really even knowing if he was heading in the right direction. But hell, he was a marine, he'd find his way.

There was no chance of him looking back, but if he had done, he'd have seen Mateo Fuentes trying, and failing, to pick himself up off the floor. His hand was pressed to a long gash in his scalp, from which blood dripped copiously, where he'd hit one of the footrests on the wheelchair; his uncoordinated movements suggested a worse concussion than the Sergeant's.

NCISNCISNCISNCIS

The fight was short, but brutal, as Tony had rather expected. The problem was, that although Brassington had no height advantage over him, he was certainly heavier, and more importantly, he didn't seem to feel pain at all. When the man charged, the agent sidestepped, but his opponent's flailing arm took him anyway.

Tony wanted the fight over ASADWP; there was an unconscious marine and a feisty, fighting pregnant lady to deal with, to say nothing of not trashing Bethesda. He wondered if McGee would join in, or if the probie would think he didn't want him to. _Serves you right for teasing him, your fault if he thinks you're too macho to accept help. _

Brassington's elbow jammed into his ribs, as they rolled on the floor; Tony got an arm free and hit the nurse hard under the nose with the side of his hand. It was a trick he'd learned as a football player; if someone persistently fouled you, you could make a blow like that look like an accident, and it reduced most people, literally, to tears. Not Brassington. He simply grunted, and punched the SFA hard in the face, setting up an angry smarting along his cheekbone.

Tony fought dirty, as they each scrambled for an advantage; he went for every pain inflicting blow he could think of, without success. Meanwhile, the blows that his opponent landed, especially to his ribs, sure hurt him. He realised as Brassington wrapped his arms round his torso that the other man was trying to roll him, so that he could hit him round the back of the neck like his victims; oh, no way.

He gripped both hands together, and pushed his arms up hard in front of him, to break Brassington's bear-hug, then sprang to his feet as fast as his bruised body would let him. The male nurse did the same, and picked up a chair. Tony flicked his eyes round the room and observed they were alone. Mostly good, it meant that both the injured marine and his wife were safe. More than could be said for him… he tried to ward the chair off, and it missed his head but came down on his shoulder. Sheeeeeet….. that was probably his collar bone. Enough already.

He'd seen them do it on TV. Jackie Chan could do it, and laugh at the same time; he bet Ziva could do it – he could do it, right?

Brassington watched him as he backed away, and grinned, clenching and unclenching his fists over and over. Just let the fed go down; he could damage him plenty and still have time to get away. A small thread of drool ran down from the corner of his mouth.

"In your dreams, dirtbag…" Tony read the look, took two short steps and leapt. He didn't risk trying to get too high and missing altogether, but executed a perfect drop-kick – how about that then – and landed both feet on the good healer's kneecap.

Brassington felt _that_. No-one had ever fought back; no-one had ever hurt him. The hideous crack and tear was nowhere near drowned out by his screech of agony, loud as it was; he went down mouthing obscenities, as Tony rolled away from where he'd landed, wanting to put as much distance as he could between him and that mouth. There came the click of a Sig, and a familiar voice said softly, "Can it, sonny, or I'll give you something to cuss about."

Tony looked up and grinned broadly, at the sight of Gibbs' gun against the nurse's ear. Gibbs returned the grin. "Sorry I'm late for the party," he said. "You OK?"

"Don't know… probably. Where's –"

Tim appeared from the passage to the maternity wing, and went straight to the Senior Field Agent as Gibbs cuffed Brian Brassington. "Tony…" he began apologetically.

"You thought it was better to take the pregnant lady to safety than stay and help me deal?" The SFA's voice was hard.

"Well, yeah… I came back as quickly as –"

"You thought right, Probie. Chill." He sat back against the front of the reception desk, clutching his shoulder, and Tim moved his jacket to look at it.

"Looks like a busted collar bone there. I'll get Brad."

"Thanks, McGee." Tony looked round as if expecting the physician to appear.

"He charged in here," Tim explained, "and helped Ziva to take Sergeant Gallier down to emergency. Having a doctor go with him was the only way we could persuade his wife to go in the other direction and get herself checked over."

"She OK?"

"I think they both are. They're making her rest just for fifteen minutes, then they'll have a look at her blood pressure again, but she's doing fine. They say the baby's not hurt." He fastened Tony's jacket around his arm, in a makeshift sling, which _did_ ease the pain. On the other side of the room, Brassington was still mouthing incoherently into the floor tiles.

NCISNCISNCISNCIS

After Brad had expressed the opinion that he'd never walk well enough on that leg again to ever hurt anyone else, the nurse was taken off under armed guard, and the waiting room returned to normal. Expectant ladies trooped in; the obstetricians came nervously from their rooms to greet them, and the ultrasonogaphers returned to work. The only sign that anything had been amiss was a dent in the wall made by the chair Brassington had wielded.

"Now _you_ – go down to x-ray and get that shoulder looked at. I'll ring them in five minutes to check you arrived."

Gibbs snorted. "It's all right, Brad – Ziva can go with him to make sure he gets there. McGee and I'll finish up here and go back. Ziva – when they're finished with him, bring him back to the bull pen where I can keep an eye on him."

Tony glared, but didn't object – until Ziva brought a wheelchair in from the corridor, and he threatened to make her ride in it.

He arrived at the x-ray department on his own feet, didn't have to wait, and the radiographer looked at the plate and pronounced it to be a hairline fracture. Immobilise and rest, the emergency doctor said, as he strapped Tony's arm to his body. Yes of course, Tony agreed. Ziva looked at him suspiciously, and was about to comment when there was a commotion outside the cubicle. Since the doctor went to see what was going on, so did the agents. They heard his horrified exclamation, "It's Mateo!"

"Oh," Ziva said in alarm, looking at the bloody form being wheeled on a gurney into the next cubicle, "That is the young man who Doctor Pitt asked to find out about Mrs. Gallier… what has happened to him?" Tony looked puzzled, and his partner explainer. "When we came down with Sergeant Gallier, Dr. Pitt asked that young orderly to go up to maternity and find out personally how his wife was, and to bring word. He thought that would be more reassuring to both of them than simply phoning."

Tony nodded. "Doctor, what's happened here?"

"Don't you concern yourself, Agent DiNozzo, this is the hospital's business, he's one of ours, we'll take care of it."

Ziva expected Tony to leave it at that, and she was surprised when he said "I'm sorry, Doctor, but that young man was involved in our case, which makes it my business. Now, what happened?"

By the time the nurses with the gurney had explained, someone at the ER front desk had pulled up the camera footage. The agents watched with the medical staff, with Tony hanging on to the edge of the desk for support. He frowned. "Can you find out if the Galliers have left the hospital yet?" A call to ante-natal reported that they hadn't; the Sergeant wasn't fit to drive, his wife had trouble fitting behind the wheel, and there was the matter of Glenn Gallier's footwear. They were waiting on a friend to pick them up and drive them home, and another to collect their car. Nothing was said about the Sergeant's stay in emergency.

"He may not know what he has done," Ziva said as they hurried back towards the maternity wing as fast as Tony could make himself travel.

"And that makes it all right?"

"No, of course not… but a man would be very anxious in his circumstances. There was no-one with him when he woke up, to tell him how his wife was."

"That _would_ have been scary, sure." Ziva thought she'd made her point. "But I didn't see him trying to ask." His tone brooked no more argument.

By the time they reached the ante-natal waiting area again, the SFA looked, and felt distinctly peaky, but when he saw the reception committee waiting there, he decided to forgo the pleasure of sitting down. The Galliers were cuddling each other, surrounded by other expectant couples, and a mum or two, all clearly sympathetic after their ordeal. One Marine looked up as the NCIS agents entered. "Oh, good," he said airily. "Have you brought Glenn's boots?"

Tony ignored him. "Sergeant Gallier, I need a word with you in private."

The Sergeant looked astonished, but not alarmed. "I've already told everyone what happened, there's no need for secrecy, Agent er…"

"Ok, your choice, Sergeant. You're under arrest for assault on a member of hospital staff, Mateo Fuentes." There was a squeak of outrage from Jane, and a murmur of resentment that ran amongst the Galliers' friends.

"I didn't assault anyone, and who the hell is Mateo Fuentes?"

"He's the orderly who came down to tell you that your wife was OK, and brought a wheelchair to take you to her. He's the orderly you picked up and chucked out of the way like a rag doll, who's now in ER with a concussion and a scalp wound that's going to require a dozen stitches."

"Oh, _him_! He wouldn't get out of my way – I just moved him aside, that's all. I was worried about my wife!"

The murmur went round again, this time sympathetic and slightly belligerent. Ziva quietly braced herself.

Tony looked round at them all, and back to Glenn Gallier. "Well now… you threw the wheelchair at the wall, then threw the orderly after it. I can show you the footage if you like." The murmur sounded more like denial this time.

The Marine who'd demanded the boots spoke hotly. "Look, officer, agent, whatever, Glenn and Janey have just been attacked by a violent criminal. Glenn was concussed. He didn't know what he was doing. He didn't mean to hurt anyone, he was just afraid for his wife. Shouldn't you be taking down the _real_ bad guy, not hounding the victim?"

"Mark," Jane protested, "He _did_ take down the real bad guy!" She paused. "My husband's not a violent man, Agent DiNozzo. He wouldn't hurt anyone deliberately… he must have not been thinking straight because of the concussion…"

"Janey's right," Glenn said desperately. "I'm sorry the guy got hurt, but it was an accident! My head was exploding – all I could think about was Jane… you'd have done the same!" The murmur sounded like complete agreement. Ziva felt tense. She didn't think Tony would be able to resist the pressure from so many of them, especially as there was some truth in what they were all saying. They'd have to arrest the Sergeant at a later date, which would be humiliating.

The SFA grimaced and shrugged his undamaged shoulder. "Can't say what I would or wouldn't have done. Fact is, you did. And Mateo Fuentes is still hurt."

"Can't you give him a break?" It was another pregnant wife who spoke. "He didn't mean it… we'd all like to think our men would do anything for us." Her voice grew thoughtful. "What's a Marine supposed to do? He – or she – is trained to fight. You expect us to fight. Then when one of us fights for his own, he gets blamed. Where's the justice in that?" The murmur agreed. Two husbands stood up and flanked Glenn.

Tony pursed his lips. He worked for a Marine. It was an argument he could go with… but…

"So…" he said slowly, "justice is a bag of jelly beans, then?" He spoke directly to the woman Marine, since she seemed the brightest of the bunch.

"What do you mean?" she asked, frowning as if perhaps she already knew.

"You dip into the bag, pick out the ones you like and leave the rest?"

"Ah."

Mark said "What the hell are you talking about?"

"You want justice for all the people who were attacked. That's fair enough, yes?" Tony mimed digging about in a packet for the right coloured jelly bean, throwing it up in the air and catching it in his mouth.

"You want justice for Jane because she was attacked. Right?" He had his audience hooked, as another jelly bean flipped into the air. "And for Glenn, yes?" Nobody breathed a word as he firkled in the imaginary bag and tossed up another imaginary bean.

"How abut justice for me? Brassington broke my clavicle while I was arresting him. He should pay for that, hmmm?" This time he made a great show of the jelly bean being delicious.

"So how about Mateo?" He sneered at the bean in the palm of his hand, and dropped it disdainfully back into its invisible bag.

For a moment there was dead silence. "Oh come on," Mark said, "It's not the same thing." The murmur couldn't make up its mind, but the female Marine went to Jane and put her hand on her shoulder.

"Yes, it is." It was Glenn Gallier who spoke, and his voice was firm. "I _didn't_ mean to do it, but I did. That young man deserves his justice too." He looked at Tony. "Let me take my wife home, and see she's OK? I give you my word I'll come to NCIS and turn myself in this afternoon."

"That's good enough for me," the SFA said. "But you need to go back to the ER and –" the double doors bumped open, and a wheelchair nudged its way through, pushed by a middle-aged man of Filipino origin. Mateo Fuentes sat in it, dark hair sprouting from the top of a bandage round his head. He looked slowly round the room until his eyes focussed on Glenn. The Sergeant winced in anguished recognition, and began to stutter an apology.

"Please, Sergeant…" Mateo spoke as slowly as he had looked round; Glenn was afraid it was because of his injury, but the younger man was just determined not to mess up his English. "I came to say, that I understood, and if I were a fighter, I would have fought like you did. I do not wish to make… to press charges. I do not wish to make you suffer more." He looked at Tony, who simply nodded.

"But… what about you?"

"I will be fine," Mateo said, with a genuine smile. (Ziva winced internally; she'd heard that word before.) "I work in a hospital, what could be better?" He offered his hand, and Glenn took it hesitantly.

"You're a better man than I am, Mr. Fuentes. I'll report to my CO, and tell him what happened, he'll have something to say. I won't just let this go; you've taught me something today." He looked at Tony. "You too."

"Me?"

"Oh yes." He jerked a thumb at his friends. "Facing that lot down. Courage isn't always physical. And justice is more than jelly beans."

Tony felt suddenly whacked. "Ziva." She didn't answer at first, she was thinking about the Sergeant's words. She too had learned things about DiNozzo today… "Ziva!"

"I am sorry, Tony. I was wood gathering…"

"Wool, Ziva. Wool gathering."

"That does not make any sense. Why would you gather wool, not wood? No… do not answer. Do you wish to leave now?"

"Yeah… let's get out of here."

"We should, while you can still stand up."

"I'm fine. Hey, can we stop at the hospital shop on the way to the car?"

Ziva looked at him and began to giggle. "Ah… you want to buy some jelly beans."

The End

**AN: 3 am again… thanks for reading!**


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